


love me until I'm gone

by oceaneyesharry



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaneyesharry/pseuds/oceaneyesharry
Summary: "just love me. love me until I'm gone."





	love me until I'm gone

It was after the wedding ceremony that I began to suspect something was off. The cake was served. The guests danced. The orchestra played an upbeat, and cheerful melody in the background. I couldn’t focus on any of it. Harry, who had become my husband just a few hours ago, was nowhere to be found. I’d been excusing my way through the crowd of relatives and friends whom we had invited to attend the ceremony, making polite conversation here and there, thanking those who congratulated me and wished my husband and me well. However, my main focus was finding my said husband. It was rather unusual that he would disappear in the middle of our wedding reception. He hadn’t given much explanation when he’d left my side, kissing my cheek, and mumbling something that I couldn’t make out due to the endless chatter going on around us. My initial thought was that he’d gone to the bathroom, or outside for some air, but after waiting for quite some time for his return, I began to feel concerned.  
It was when I’d finally given up on looking for him and had grabbed my cell to shoot him a quick text that I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I spun around, finally meeting his eyes after what had felt like ages. I found it a bit embarrassing that I, the bride, had just spent the past thirty or so minutes looking for the groom at our own wedding reception, only hours after we’d been wed.  
“Y/N, you do realize you’re standing right in the middle of the dance floor, right?” was the first thing he said to me, with a cheeky grin that brought out the little crinkles around his eyes that I’d come to love. “Care to dance with me? Might as well considering where we’re standing.” I huffed at him, not paying much attention to where I was standing at all, and playfully pushed at his chest. Dancing wasn’t the first thing on my mind at the moment. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you for over half an hour!”  
His expression went rather solemn at that. “’m sorry, m'love. Truly I am.” He gestured in a way that implied he still wished to embrace me for a dance. “Didn’t mean to worry you. Just felt a little sick is all.”  
“Sick?” I inquired, giving in to his embrace and placing my hands on his shoulders. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you tell me?”  
He shrugged, giving me a small, reassuring smile. “It’s not that big of a deal, pet,” he assured me. “Probably just nerves, that’s all.”  
Something about the expression on his face just then made me a bit uneasy. I furrowed my brow, trying to pinpoint what was bothering me, but as quickly as I noticed it, if I’d really noticed anything at all, his expression changed. Whatever it was, it came and went so fast that I decided to brush it off for the time being. If anything, I’d ask him about it later.  
He smiled at me, pulling me closer to him. “Can’t believe we’re married,” he marveled, once again kissing my cheek.  
I smiled back at him, but my smile was teasing. “Regret it yet?” I joked, wrapping my arms around his neck.  
“Never.”  
~  
With every week that passed after that, I became increasingly concerned and confused. There were days scattered throughout the next month that Harry wouldn’t be around. I would wake up some mornings and he wouldn’t be there. Some nights, I’d come home exhausted from work, and the house would be empty, quiet. I’d try to contact him at times, but he wouldn’t give me much other than an occasional text of assurance that he’d be home soon, and that I shouldn’t worry. There were some nights he’d come home late with alcohol on his breath and pass out on the couch without a word. Sometimes I’d leave our room in the morning to find him sound asleep on the couch, shoes still on, his hair a disheveled mess.  
I didn’t understand why he was acting this way. We’d only been married for a short time. Technically, we were still in what most would call the “honeymoon phase.” However, Harry wasn’t always around to enjoy it with me. Admittedly, there were some occasions where he’d wake up early to make me breakfast, or settle down on the couch to watch an old film with me, but with every day that passed, he was gone without explanation more often. What was wrong? Was he unhappy with me? Did he regret marrying me?  
One evening, a couple of months and a handful of days after we’d gotten married, I was especially anxious. I’d waited all night the previous night for him to come home, and all day the following day. Still, after having been gone for over twenty-four hours without so much as his usual text telling me not to worry, he hadn’t returned, and I was worried.  
I was so worried in fact that I couldn’t eat, nor could I sleep. All I could manage to do was doze in and out of consciousness, waiting for him on the couch in our living room. Our apartment was rather small, but as I waited for him to come home to me after waiting for what felt like a century, it was I who felt small. The light fixtures around the room, which usually gave off a calming feel, did nothing to lighten my mood. The room felt dim, daunting. When I was awake, I’d try to distract myself, scrolling through my phone, flipping through an exceeding number of channels on the television. Nothing would bring me calm until he was home safe, and until I knew why he was gone in the first place.  
Slowly, as each hour passed, as midnight approached, then flew by and he still didn’t return, I became angry. What could he possibly be doing? Where could he possibly be going? Why wouldn’t he tell me? What did I do to make him want to leave? I asked myself those questions, along with many others, over and over again, my body flushing with heat as I became increasingly furious at him for behaving in such a way. He had to know that what he was doing was suspicious, causing me to worry. My palms began to sweat, and my knuckles turned white as I dug my nails into my palms. I stood, pacing the room, questions still flying through my head as I continued to wait for his return.  
Then, suddenly, it hit me. Maybe I wasn’t asking myself the right questions. Yes, it would be nice to know where he was going, what he was doing, and why. However, perhaps the most important question of them all was… who? Who was he disappearing with? What were they doing? Where were they going? Why? Why, why, why?  
Suddenly, I heard the doorknob turn, and the door creak open. In came Harry, his shoulders sagging in exhaustion. He stumbled as he walked into the room, perhaps not expecting to see me, because his expression was rather startled when he met my eyes. He walked towards me, intending to embrace me, and perhaps tell me how much he missed me, but I beat him to it,  
“Who is she?” I demanded, shoving at his arms when he attempted to pull me to him.  
His hands fell to his sides, an expression of confusion immediately taking over his features. “What?” He shook his head, implying that he didn’t understand the question.  
“You’re gone nearly every day, for hours. Did you really think I wouldn’t suspect anything?” I went on. “Who is she? How long have you been seeing her? Why did you even marry me if you want to be with her?” With every question, I shoved at his chest, pushing backwards. At first, I didn’t even notice I was crying. I didn’t even really know why I was crying. I felt numb, exhausted, but tears were pouring down my face at an alarming rate nonetheless.  
He held up his hands in surrender. “Whoa there, love… You think I’m cheating on you? Is that what this is?” He shook his head once more. “Where is this coming from?”  
I was yelling by then. I couldn’t help it. I was tired, confused, and hurt, and I wanted to believe so badly that the conclusion I had reached wasn’t true. “Why else would you be gone all the time? Without giving me so much as a ‘be home soon’? You never tell me where you go, what you do, or why. You just leave without explanation, without telling me when you’ll come back. I just sit here and worry and wonder for hours and hours. Why? Why are you doing this? Why would you marry me if you don’t even love me?”  
“Hey, hey,” he murmured. By this point, I’d worn myself out. All I could do was cry. I didn’t stop him when he embraced me. I didn’t cut him off when he spoke. I just let him hold me, and I cried, and I shook. “Shh, it’s okay. That’s not what this is at all, love.”  
I choked, sobbing into his shirt. “Why don’t you love me anymore?” I whimpered.  
He held me at arm’s length, tilting my chin gently so I’d look him in the eye. “I do. I swear it. I do love you and I’ve never stopped. I would never do anything to hurt you like that.”  
I sniffled, not even bothering to wipe the tears from my cheeks. “Then why do you keep leaving me?”  
He sighed then. It was a long, deep, pained sigh. Suddenly, he couldn’t meet my eyes. His hands fell from where they rested on my shoulders, and he crossed his arms, staring at the floor.  
“Harry?” It took a few moments, but he finally looked back up at me, his welling with tears. “What is it? What’s wrong?” It was his turn to cry, and he did. What he said next was the last thing I expected him to say.  
“I’m dying, Y/N.”  
I shook my head. I must have heard him wrong. “What?”  
“I’m dying.” He gave me a weak smile that was far from comforting. “I’m sorry. I just… I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. Wanted everything to be okay, for a while at least. So, I tried to just pretend nothing was happening. Keeping it from you was torture, so I needed to clear my head sometimes. That’s why I’ve been gone all the time. Sometimes I just walk, or drive for hours, thinking, other times I try and drink it all away, so I don’t have to think at all.”  
“What is it?” I asked, and he knew what I meant.  
He pointed to his head. “Brain cancer. Stage four. Can’t do much about it but just wait until…”  
“When did you find out?”  
“Few days after the wedding. Felt off at the reception, and it didn’t go away. Went to the doctor and that was that.”  
“How long?”  
“I have a few months at the most.” I was numb in a completely different way. I wasn’t processing this. It wasn’t real, or at least, it didn’t feel real. In just a few short months, if we were lucky enough to even have that much time, Harry would be gone. For good. Permanently. Forever.  
I couldn’t meet his eyes, so I turned away. “What can I do?”  
He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around me. He kissed my hair before resting his chin on my shoulder. “Just love me. Love me until I’m gone.” He attempted to tease a little with his next request. “Love me even after I’m gone, for a while at least. Better for my ego.”  
I didn’t respond, or laugh, or even smile at his attempt at lightening the mood. Instead, I turned back to him, and I pulled him to me, as close as possible, and I held him. I didn’t let go of him for a long time.  
~  
Our wedding was in late April. It was Harry's favorite time of year. It was the beginning of springtime, when the flowers were blooming, bright, and beautiful. It wasn’t too hot, and it wasn’t too cold. The birds sang, the sky was a brilliant blue. There were times when I thought he could talk about it for hours. Once he got started, raving about how extravagant the beginning springtime was, it was hard to get him to stop.  
It was January now. Everything was dying, if it wasn’t dead already. The flowers, the leaves on the trees, the brilliant blue of the sky. The birds no longer sang, the sky was dull and grey, and the air bit with cold. This was his least favorite time of the year, and it was beginning to become mine as well, because he was dying, just as everything he loved about springtime was.  
Over the past several months, he’d become weak, and uncoordinated. He’d begun to lose his memory, forgetting little things like where he put his phone, or when to set his alarm. With each month that had passed, he’d forgotten more and more. The only things he had managed to salvage was his name, along with mine, and a few other things, like what he liked for breakfast, and his favorite song. They were little pieces of him that he’d managed to hold on to, but aside from them, he struggled to recall much else. He got sick increasingly often as time went by, waking with a start in the middle of a restless sleep, choking, and crying. He refused to let me take him to a doctor. Before he’d begun to fall apart, he’d insisted that he spend every moment with me in our home, so he could pretend as best as he could that everything was normal.  
So, I couldn’t do much other than hold him, get him some water, tell him it would be okay, even though it wouldn’t.  
~  
It was the beginning of February, a Tuesday night, or at least, I thought so. I couldn’t keep track. It had all begun to run together. The fact that I could even recall what month it was anymore was rather impressive to me. Harry was resting in bed, trying so hard to sleep, but try as he might, sleep wasn’t coming for some reason. I sat in a rather old and uncomfortable chair beside him, reading a book, checking up on him now and then, making sure he didn’t need water, or help getting to the bathroom. I felt him watching me. He wouldn’t look away. I knew he wanted my attention, and just couldn’t express it properly. I couldn’t quite bring myself to look at him just then, not until he spoke.  
“Love you,” he mumbled weakly. “So much.”  
I managed to look up then, giving him a small smile. “I love you too, babe,” I responded.  
“Come here,” he requested, weakly patting at the bed beside him. I was quick to put my book away, folding the page over and closing it before setting it on the bedside table. I didn’t bother to get under the covers. He often got overheated, and I didn’t want to add to that with my own body heat. He lay flat on his back, and I rested my head on his chest. He hummed in contentment, his hand shaking as he moved it to my hair.  
“Tired,” he murmured.  
“I know,” I sighed, closing my eyes. I was rather tired as well.  
“Sleep, love,” he cooed, moving his hand to my back and rubbing it reassuringly.  
I held him closer, letting out a sigh as I curled into his side. “I think I just might.”  
I don’t really remember falling asleep. I remember him telling me to several times, and I remember him playing with my hair, and I remember finding his hand beneath the covers and intertwining our fingers, but I don’t remember falling asleep. I do remember waking up with a start. When it happened, I didn’t know why I was so startled. All I really knew is that something felt off. Looking over at Harry's side of the bed, I reached to grab his shoulder, shaking him gently. I didn’t think much of it at first when I didn’t get a response. It usually took a while to wake him once he was sleeping. However, I did need to make sure he was okay, because something felt wrong. I just didn’t know what.  
But he wasn’t okay, and he wouldn’t wake up. I shook him, poked him, said his name. He didn’t respond. I began to panic then, because while it wasn’t uncommon for him to fall into a deep sleep, it was abnormal that he was taking so long to wake up. His forehead glistened with  
sweat, but his skin was ice cold. He was paler than I had ever seen him. I began to shake with worry, tugging at my hair and throwing the covers off the bed. Something was wrong. What should I do? What could I do? Then it hit me. I pulled my hair over one shoulder and put my opposite ear up to his chest, hoping and praying that I’d hear even the faintest of heartbeats… but, nothing. I scrambled, tears beginning to fall from my eyes as I grabbed his wrist to check for a pulse. Nothing. I shook him yet again, calling out his name, waiting for him to stir even the slightest bit, but still, nothing. Nothing.  
I couldn’t do anything. It was too late. He was gone.  
~  
The months leading up to Harry's death, I was wracked with guilt. I could hardly believe that I’d ever doubted his faithfulness to me. I had been so quick to let mistrust take over, jumping to a conclusion that was far from the truth. I was also angry, but not with myself. With him. Angry because he’d been gone on so many occasions. Angry at him for giving me reasons to doubt him. Angry that he’d kept the truth from me for so long. Angry because the first few months following our marriage could’ve been different if he’d just told me. Of course, I was more miserable than anything, because the one that I loved was slipping away from me so quickly, and I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t take his pain away, or even lessen it. I couldn’t remove the thing inside of him that was taking him away from me piece by piece. I couldn’t tell him, with all honesty, that everything would be okay. The only thing I could do was love him, and love him I did, increasingly each day, until he was gone.  
Still, the only thing I could do now that he had passed was love him, and love him I did, and love him I would, until I, too, was gone.


End file.
